


Dark Prison

by TwelveForever



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-29 23:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12095715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwelveForever/pseuds/TwelveForever
Summary: He feels his skin break out in a cold sweat and his heart thumping in his throat as two men grab hold of his arms and shove him across the room.





	Dark Prison

**Author's Note:**

> Just a different take on Rick, Negan and the Whisperers, aka an excuse for more Regan whump.

Rick lets out a yelp as he is roused from his sleep on the floor with a kick to his ribs. Opening a swollen eyelid, the view of the Whisperer standing above him who put his boot in his side swims into focus.

 

“Get up.”

 

Rick's too exhausted to put up a fight so he complies and eases himself onto his bare feet carefully; hugging his arms around his middle protectively and limping on his right knee.

 

With a pistol trained on the back of his head, Rick is led down a darkened corridor and into a small, windowless room where a single light bulb hangs overhead. He only has a few seconds to take in the dingy surroundings until a blindfold is roughly pulled over his eyes. That’s all the time Rick needs to make out the narrow wooden platform that is lowered at one side, with leather restraints attached at each end.

 

He feels his skin break out in a cold sweat and his heart thumping in his throat as two men grab hold of his arms and shove him across the room. Rick kicks out and struggles frantically and his knees buckle from under him when he is beaten across the back of them.

 

He’s dragged across the floor until someone in front grabs onto his feet and lifts him into the air. A moment later he’s forced flat on his back upon a hard surface with his top half sloping downwards.

 

Rick continues to thrash against the strong grips on his limbs until the gun is pressed against his cheek. He lets his body go limp and tries to quell the sick feeling of dread as his hands are pulled above his head and trussed by leather straps. Below, his ankles are bound in the same way.

 

_Don't panic, whatever you do, don’t panic._

 

Now completely immobolised, he hears the shuffle of footsteps at his side and a familiar voice near his ear.

 

“Let’s try again. Where are your people?”

 

_Don't give up now. Protect them. You’re as good as dead if you speak, anyway._

 

“Fuck you,” Rick spits, and a moment later someone wrenches his jaw downwards and a wet cloth is stuffed inside his mouth.

 

Two hands hold his face tightly in place as a steady stream of water splashes onto his mouth and Rick starts to gag against the cloth. He convulses violently in his restraints, shuddering and heaving as he tries to take in a breath.

 

His fingers claw desperately into the flesh of his palms and draw blood as he fights to breach the surface of a black lake, and slowly weakens as the seconds tick by.  
Nearly a minute passes before his eyes close and his lungs reach bursting point.

 

* * *

 

Rick regains consciousness when he’s slapped hard across his cheek and realises that the gag has been removed. Coughs wrack his chest as he sucks in a few ragged breaths before the woman speaks again.

 

“Was that enough to persuade you to talk?”

 

_Keep it together, the group will find you, you can do this, you have to hold on._

 

“Here’s a few words,” Rick replies though his wheezing, “ _Go to hell._ ”

 

Laughter rings out in the enclosed space and Rick's mouth is forced open again.

 

* * *

 

“All you need to do is tell us where your people are,”

 

His shirt is saturated and clings to his cold skin, which Rick figures is only half the reason why he can’t stop shivering. Shock is taking hold and he wonders how long it will be until his oxygen-starved brain ceases to function.

 

Rick has clenched his jaw shut tightly and refuses to open up, even after someone digs their fingers between his teeth and bottom lip and pulls down. His gums tear and blood trickles down his chin, and they settle for smothering his face with the cloth instead.

 

When Rick doesn’t respond to the question, water gushes onto his face _they'll save you_ and he’s drowning in the freezing depths of his dark prison once more.

 

* * *

 

“Everyone has a breaking point, Rick.”

 

Through the fog of waking consciousness, Rick has lost track of time. How long has he been like this? Hours? Days? His bleeding mouth falls slack and his head droops to the side as he lies there listlessly, barely taking notice of the movements around him.

 

“Yours just takes more creativity to reach,”

 

Rick doesn’t react as a gun is pressed into the palm of one of his hands and he waits for the pain. What comes instead is the crash of wood splintering as the room’s door bursts open and the hand holding the gun wavers. A second later a blast of gunfire sounds and the heavy thwack of a body slamming into the concrete wall next to him. There's shouts and a scrambling of movement and four more shots, then silence.

 

Rick hears a sound like a sick moan near the door and the slap of boots across the floor as someone reaches his side.

 

" _Fuck, please, no_ ," a voice begs, and the blindfold is ripped from Rick's face.

 

He opens his sensitive eyes against the harsh overhead light, and squints to make out the taller man's profile. Rick flinches against Negan's hand as he cups the side of his clammy cheek and tilts his mouth towards his ear, listening as his breath comes in shallow intakes.

 

Negan's voice is thick as he swallows back anger and tears. “Oh god Rick, what have they fucking done?”

 

* * *

 

For Rick, the next few hours come as a blur of lights, the ceiling of a room and figures hovering above him.

 

When someone dabs at his mouth with a wet towel he becomes hysterical and lashes out, and Negan rushes forward to gently pry Rick's hands from Arat's forearms, which leave red fingerprints. Negan leans down and holds him in an act of comfort and restraint; whispering calming words into his hair as Rick feels a sharp sting near his shoulder and he slumps back into the pillow when his vision turns bleary.

 

Rick wakes that evening in the dim light of the bedroom, and hears a muffled voice through the closed doors opposite him. He turns over beneath the silk sheets and gingerly moves his stiff ankles and wrists that are bruised purple. Both palms are patched with gauze, and Rick runs his tongue along his lower lip and feels a similar material there, tasting copper and something like the residue of antiseptic. Sitting up slowly, he waits for a wave of dizziness to pass and gets out of what he assumes is Negan's bed to hobble to the bathroom.

 

Switching on the light, Rick stands on the fuzzy bathmat in front of the mirror and takes in his reflection. There's heavy bruising around his puffy eyes and a welt across one cheek, and he winces as he slips a finger beneath his front teeth to retrieve a piece of gauze.

 

He disposes of it and absentmindedly turns on the tap so that he can clean the dried blood from the corners of his lips, but the sound of the water splashing against the ceramic freezes Rick in his motion of reaching for some tissues.

 

Blood rushes in his ears as he stands transfixed over the sink, watching as the stream of water spirals down the drain. Reaching forward, his fingers tremor as they linger over the faucet until Negan appears quietly at his side and slides his own hand under Rick's to turn it off.


End file.
